Smashed
by Sarah Serena Rose
Summary: He was smashed, literally and figuratively. Getting drunk might not have solved his problems but it sure numbed the pain. A bit of Dean angst, post 9x12 and 9x13.
1. Chapter 1

_Title: Smashed  
>Characters: Dean<br>Rating: T (language)  
>Genre: Angst<br>Notes: Well, I just made myself sad. A bit of angsty!Dean post 9x12.  
>Summary: He was smashed, literally and figuratively. Getting drunk might not have solved his problems but it sure numbed the pain. <em>

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><p>Look who's digging their own grave<br>That is what they all say  
>You'll drink yourself to death<p>

Look who makes their own bed  
>Lies right down within it<br>And what will you have left?

_Icarus – Bastille_

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><p>For the first time in a long time, Dean was actually drunk. Like, laid out on his ass, stone-cold drunk. The sixty year old scotch had gone down harsh and damn wasn't he going to pay for that in the morning; but lying on the floor in the library, staring up into the high ceilings with the lights that wouldn't quite focus, he couldn't find it in himself to give a fuck.<p>

The past two weeks had been an emotional rollercoaster and he just wanted to get the hell _off_. If only for a few hours. The alcohol was a welcomed friend, an attempt to staunch the thoughts, the pain and guilt. God, the guilt. Never really leaves, just lives in the corners of his mind he keeps locked up in remembrance of all the mistakes he's made. Not that he's learned from them.

Dean snorts, a bitter smile on his face. If he would have learned _anything_, he wouldn't be lying on the ground drunk-alone anyway-while Sam was in his room avoiding him. Their relationship so strained that the kid couldn't even call him brother anymore, couldn't trust him. Thought that they were broken.

This time a slight hysterical laugh falls from his lips as he presses his palms into the floor, trying to stop the spinning and nausea. He couldn't deny it, they _were_ broke in every sense of the word. Trust smashed into little pieces, companionship tossed out the window. Were they even family anymore? Hell, after Sam's speech he couldn't make sense of it, even now. 'Course that could be the alcohol, but everything is so fucking wrong and he doesn't know how to fix it this time.

His good intentions always turned sour, twisted into ugly and deceitful actions. It was never enough, nothing was ever enough. He tried so hard, but nothing ever turned out the hell was he going to do?

Blinking a few times, Dean took a deep breath and could feel his eyes start to burn. Fucking _wonderful_. That's all he needs right now, to have a complete meltdown. After the past few weeks, he feels entitled to one, the anguish and exhaustion tearing him apart inside. It would be selfish though, he knows that. He has to keep going, can't quit now. Not with Gadreel and Abaddon still at large; plus there's Kevin-_god-_he has to get revenge for the kid, for Sam. But, lying drunk on the floor in self-pity, he still couldn't make himself care enough, not now.

He's too fucked to even stand up. Mentally. Physically. Knows his legs would give out the moment he stood up and he'd fall. Crumble into a million pieces.

Dean lifted a hand to his face and could feel the evidence of tears streaming down past his cheeks. But he's still got that goddamn smile on his face, etched deep. Smiling through the pain; another thing that's been etched into him since forever. Smile like everything's alright, like it's going to be okay and the world won't fall from beneath your feet. Yeah, right. From his position on the floor, it didn't seem very effective.

He always pushed things deep down inside, never allowed himself to show emotion, at least none that could be used against him. Which was why he was now a blubbering mess on the floor, having a long overdue breakdown. After repressing the emotions of watching Kevin die, Sam on his deathbed and now currently feeling like he couldn't even trust the one person he was _supposed _to count on, it poured out. Sorrow leaking from his pores, the pure exhaustion of holding everything in seeping from his bones.

But he clamped a hand over his mouth, wouldn't let a sound pass through his lips. Couldn't let Sam see or hear him break. How weak he was at the moment. Body wracked with sobs, hands clenched into fists.

Dean knew getting drunk wasn't a good solution to his problems; plus scotch always did make him more emotional, but it numbed the pain, at least for a little while. He could pass out cold and would actually sleep, instead of facing everything in his nightmares.

Trying to calm down, he took a few deep breaths and removed the hand from his face. He felt shattered, worn and pierced with unimaginable pain. But the feeling passed as he closed his eyes and slowly faded into oblivion.


	2. Chapter 2

_Notes: Spoilers for 9.12 'Sharp Teeth' and 9.13 'The Purge.' Since this is still relevant towards the events occurring in last night's episode, I decided to turn this into a two-shot. Enjoy! _

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><p>And if you close your eyes,<br>Does it almost feel like  
>You've been here before?<br>How am I gonna be an optimist about this?  
>How am I gonna be an optimist about this?<p>

We were caught up and lost in all of our vices  
>In your pose as the dust settled around us<p>

_Pompeii - Bastille_

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><p>It was whiskey this time, sucked back straight from the bottle.<p>

Bobby would be proud_, _he thought, while watching the light hit the glass and create amber reflections on the floor. Probably the only thing he'd be proud of at the moment, that his adopted son is a bigger drunk than him.

Smiling that same sardonic smile, Dean lifted the bottle up in resemblance to a toast, hearing the liquid slosh about in protest.

"Here's to…to bein' a total fuckup, to making the same mistakes ov'r and ov'r. To ruinin' every relationship and getting' everyone killed. 'specially S'mmy, never wanted to hurt 'em…never."

Taking a swig from the bottle, Dean glanced at the doorway from his seat on the kitchen floor. Where his brother exited hours ago, presumably to sleep, leaving him alone to mull over everything, again. Left him reeling, again.

"Here's to always lettin' down the ones I love and to wreckin' the trust of the only person I give a damn about. God-"

He broke off and leaned his head against his knees, clutching the bottle in a viper grip. Wanting nothing more than to smash it into a million pieces and dump the contents down the drain. It was a slippery slope for him, drinking. He didn't want to get caught in that particular vicious cycle again, trying to kill pain with booze; it might help, but it certainly caused more damage. But he'd prefer being numb than feeling anything at the moment.

_No Dean, I wouldn't._

Those words…It was hard to even process them. Another constant loop that would play over and over in his head, serving as a reminder to the mistakes he's made. The inevitable fuckups, 'cause they could never get a break, because they were the fuckin' Winchesters. But the thought that Sam wouldn't save him…

Running a hand through his hair, Dean placed the liquor down and glanced up. He knew Sam didn't mean it in such black and white terms, so bluntly. He _would _do anything to save him, as long as it didn't go against his own morals. No more sacrifices from either party; no more deals. It still hurt to hear it though, was like someone punched him in the gut. Hurt to breathe, to think.

Well, he would still try and save Sam, no matter what. How could he not? It's been engrained into him since he was four fucking years old, the single constant he could rely on. _Watch out for Sammy. _And of course he doesn't want to be left alone! Sam was the one person who meant more to him than the whole world. He'll admit it, he might have been selfish-saving Sam when he wanted to die-but he loves the kid, couldn't stand to watch him die. Not again. He'd go fucking bananas-

Sighing, Dean leaned his head back against the wall and scanned the kitchen, contemplating. There was a detached aura in the air, doesn't know if it's from the booze or how torn up he was inside.

He doesn't break easy. Yeah fuckin' right. A bitter chuckle passed his lips at the loaded statement. Raising the bottle once more, Dean muttered, "This is to you bro, the only one who can truly break me," before taking one long last mouthful, cringing as it burned down his throat.

Pushing the empty bottle away, Dean realized they had to have a serious chat, chick-flick moment and all. He wasn't going to lose his brother, _couldn't_. Not because of him, any of those sons'abitches or himself. But that's the only problem; it's hard trying to save someone from themself.

Reassuming his early position, he laid his head down and pleaded into his knees, "God. Please, please let us get past this…"

All he wanted was his little brother back, hopefully Sam still needed him too.


End file.
